


A Lost Timeline

by saey-bae (JourneysBeginning)



Series: Mysme Oneshots [4]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Heavy Angst, Reader is Main Character (Mystic Messenger), because i like angst and crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JourneysBeginning/pseuds/saey-bae
Summary: An angsty one-shot revolving around Saeran's life. Cross-posted from my Tumblr, saey-bae.***He’s five years old and his small body aches with lashes and bruises. A tear rolls down his cheek.His mother doesn’t love him because he’s sick and weak. That’s why she hurts him.But his brother Saeyoung is able to go outside and scavenge for the two of them, coming back with all sorts of books and treats.He wishes he could be more useful.He wishes he could go out, too.
Relationships: Choi Saeran & Main Character, Choi Saeran/Reader
Series: Mysme Oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1029482
Kudos: 9





	A Lost Timeline

He’s five years old and his small body aches with lashes and bruises. A tear rolls down his cheek. 

His mother doesn’t love him because he’s sick and weak. That’s why she hurts him. 

But his brother Saeyoung is able to go outside and scavenge for the two of them, coming back with all sorts of books and treats.

He wishes he could be more useful. 

He wishes he could go out, too. 

* * *

“Do you miss me like I miss you, Saeyoung?” 

He’s fourteen years old, and he’s leaning against the window sill as he looks up at the night sky with an unfathomable sadness in his eyes. It’s an expression that no child his age should bear, yet it’s the one that graces his face the most often. 

He wonders if his brother watches the same sky.

* * *

He’s eighteen now, and he’s become enamoured with blue roses. There is something about their ethereal beauty that so thoroughly captures his heart.

The bushes he now tends to are a gift from the Savior, who had praised him for his hacking work. She was so kind as to let him plant his roses in her garden that he’d take extra care to make sure they grew as beautifully as he remembers them to be. After all, that’s the least he can do.

Somewhere, in his mind, he remembers an old saying his brother- no, his competitor- his someone- used to remind him of: _“When you grow plants, you must say five nice things to it so they will grow to be beautiful.”_

He crouches by the dirt. 

“Mint Eye. The Savior. Ice cream. The sky.” He pauses, struggling for a moment. “Saeyoung.”

* * *

He works on his coding whenever he has the opportunity to, hardly getting a wink of sleep. He chain smokes when he gets frustrated. He won’t touch any alcohol, though-- instead, he’ll down another bottle of elixir when shit gets too tough and plow through his work until he passes out.

Wash, rinse, and repeat.

He’s turning twenty-two this year, but he feels older than that. In brief moments of lucidity, he feels like he’s lived an eon. He feels like he’s lived too long because how else would you feel when you just want to die, to sleep forever?

He doesn’t let those thoughts linger for too long, though, because he knows he must be of some use to his Saviour and her paradise. That is the only thing worth living for. It is the only thing he knows.

That is, until you walk into Mint Eye. Your presence bothers him at first. It must be because you’re from the cruel world that shunned him all those years ago, and that must be why he feels the need to crush your spirit. He doesn’t try to repress those cruel thoughts, nor does he hesitate to put them into action.

He'll call you weak as he backs you up against a wall, a smile curling his lips when he hears the sharp intake of breath. A rush of heat courses through his body as his hands land on your hips, and he swears that his heart only pounds because he’s excited to have a new toy to play with. 

He claims you to be his as he bites down on your neck, his teeth leaving angry red indents on your supple flesh. His nails dig into you, but you don’t so much as flinch.

It leaves him confused, but he would come back and try again later— then you’d see who you’re dealing with.

But no matter how often he corners you, no matter how he threatens you, you never do flinch.

In fact, over time, he’s learned that you _don’t_ flinch. That’s just who you are as a person— yielding, but unbreakable. And for the trailing months, he finds himself growing increasingly more uncomfortable with your presence, pushing and pressing you further, wondering why you just won’t _break._

But instead, he only learns that the pounding in his chest isn’t quite because he’s excited to have a new toy. And the newfound warmth that blooms in his cheeks isn’t because the room has grown too hot with another person in it. 

It’s because of you. Of him. Of how he’s fallen for you.

And that’s when he’s realized that you’ve broken him instead. And he crumbles in your arms, suddenly unsure of everything he thought he knew.

* * *

Leaving was difficult. Adjusting was difficult. 

He still has days where he wishes to curl up beneath the sheets and forget that he exists.

But those days were growing fewer and fewer in between.

And leaving has been the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he thinks, as he glances over at you while tending to his roses.

You’re kneeling by the marigolds, laughing as a gust of wind nearly sweeps off your straw hat. You reach up and pat it down with a dirtied gloved hand, keeping it from flying off.

Only, your hand slips and it does fly free, and his eyes turn to see Saeyoung abandon his post at the tulips to chase after it.

He’s just turned twenty-three, and he thinks this is the best year of his life.

This is the freedom he’s been looking for all those years.

* * *

He’s twenty-five, he thinks, but he isn’t quite too sure when he awakens. He’s dazed and disorientated, but he’s sure that he’s staring at the ceiling of the hovel he used to call his room at Mint Eye. An instant spike of fear courses through him, and the realization that follows has him bolting up into a sitting position-- only, he isn’t quite alone.

A gentle hand caresses his cheek and he leans into the touch readily until his eyes lift up to meet the vibrant green ones that haunt his dreams.

He flinches.

“Ray, I see your fever has broken,” the blonde woman says quietly, her soft voice laced with sugar and venom. “Why do you look so afraid?” 

He wants to push her away because she’s leaning in closer. He wants to say that his name isn’t Ray. He wants to tell her that his name Saeran. That he is not afraid. But the words are stolen from him before they can escape his lips, and he stares at the Savior --at Rika-- in silence instead. 

“Believer Y/N, bring the glass.” 

_You._ You are Y/N, but you are not looking at him with a smile when you walk over to him with the glass of elixir in hand. You are not smiling as you tilt his chin up.

He whispers your name, but you don’t respond. He wants to ask why your eyes are devoid of emotion as you pour the burning drink down his throat. He wants to ask why you are in Mint Eye when he’s sure that the two of you escaped all those years back. He wants to ask you many, many things, but his mind is clouding over again and he can’t quite remember what all those things are anymore.

* * *

He’s sixteen and it’s his first time walking to the cathedral by himself. He feels the cool summer breeze rustle his t-shirt and the contrasting heat of the rising sun warm his skin, and he hears a morning bird sing its sweet tune. His footsteps slow until he comes to a full stop, and he closes his eyes and absorbs this peaceful moment in its entirety.

He thinks this is what freedom must feel like.


End file.
